


The Culinary Institute Job

by Tieleen



Category: Leverage
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3462458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tieleen/pseuds/Tieleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I actually <em>need the table too</em>, babe, you're not helping, this is the least helpful thing you could be doing," Hardison says. He tries to wipe his forehead with the hand holding the knife and redirects at the last second. Parker briefly considers taking it away from him.</p><p>"That's not true," she says. "I could be sitting on the counter again. And I stopped stealing your carrot sticks."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Culinary Institute Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bessemerprocess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bessemerprocess/gifts).



Parker's favorite spot in the new kitchen is always the countertop, which is just right for sitting on. Hardison's been looking like he's about to fall down and cry for a while now, though, and she hadn't even given him more than a look before she agreed to relocate to the table.

"I actually _need the table too_ , babe, you're not helping, this is the least helpful thing you could be doing," Hardison says. He tries to wipe his forehead with the hand holding the knife and redirects at the last second. Parker briefly considers taking it away from him.

"That's not true," she says. "I could be sitting on the counter again. And I stopped stealing your carrot sticks."

"You're eating one _right now_ ," Hardison says, distractedly. "Why are the insides of this onion green? You think that's a bad sign?"

"I stole that one before." She cranes over to look. "Are onions not supposed to be green inside?"

"Haven't you ever chopped an onion?"

"No," Parker says. "Haven't you?"

"Sure," Hardison says. He pokes the tip of the knife at the green part, experimentally. "Sometimes. I'm sure I have. I don't remember them ever being green."

"You could wait for Eliot," Parker points out. "He'd know." She does her best Eliot-y voice: "It's a very distinctive color –"

Hardison grins at her over his shoulder. "That kind of defeats the purpose, Parker."

"Eliot would probably want you to wait for him," Parker muses. "He's going to complain. He'll complain about having to eat it and how we didn't clean the kitchen right."

Hardison sighs, pulling a pan out of a cupboard. Parker has no idea how he knew it was there. "I know. Wait, how we didn't clean the kitchen? You're going to help?"

Parker shrugs, even though he's staring very intently at the stovetop and playing with the dials and can't actually see it. "Sure."

"What does medium heat even mean," Hardison says. "They all have different mediums, am I supposed to average it out?"

"You've made me fried eggs before," Parker says, looking on with vague interest.

"Yes," Hardison says. "But that's eggs, you just… I know how to make eggs. Is that medium heat? I'm sure I've fried other things before. I just don't understand this recipe. Hold on, I'm going to google it."

"Okay," Parker says, agreeable. She pulls another carrot stick out of her sleeve and starts in on it.

"I saw that," Hardison says. He frowns at his phone. "Just – why can't people be – you know what, never mind. What's the worst that could happen?"

Parker is fairly sure they won't manage to burn down the house, so she doesn't contribute that. She watches Hardison poke at things for a while, munching on another carrot stick.

"Didn't Eliot tell you about this stuff in cooking school?" she asks after a while. Hardison is pouring something into the pan with the kind of face he gets just before he puts one of the really good rappelling harnesses on.

"I don't know," he says, pausing and then pouring some more in. "Probably? Maybe. I was busy with the laser. You know, this would all be a lot easier if Nate didn't let him take my laser."

Parker hums. The laser cooking was really pretty horrible, especially after just finding out about food. "Eliot wouldn't eat foam, though."

"It's like living in the dark ages," Hardison mutters. "Stifle a man's creativity – whoa."

That probably wasn't medium heat. Parker eats another carrot stick.

"How come you'll help with the clean up but not with this part?" Hardison wants to know. The noises are a lot quieter now. He seems okay about what's happening in the pan, although Parker isn't really sure if that means anything.

She shrugs again. "I still think Eliot'll be happier if you let him make dinner."

"Yes, I know he'll be happier," Hardison says, and his shoulders are a little tense now. "Tough luck, he'll just have to deal with it."

"Because you want to make him dinner," Parker says. 

"Yeah," Hardison says.

"Because that's an anniversary thing."

"Yep."

"Even though that'll make him less happy." She hops off the table, stretching a little.

"That's right."

"That doesn't make a lot of sense," Parker says.

"Doesn't have to," Hardison says. "And I'll tell you something else, if he was a better parson he'd fake being thrilled about it."

Parker considers. "I don't think he's going to do that."

"No," Hardison says. His shoulders aren't tense anymore. He might be smiling, a little, but in that way where it's a kind of secret. "I don't think he is, either."

"Okay," Parker says. She shrugs. "So, I'll help cleaning. You want a carrot stick?"

"I want to know why my tomatoes are melting," Hardison says. "I want to know why the laws of physics have no power in this damned kitchen."

"Eliot probably knows that too," Parker says. She thinks it over. "But I'm not sure he'll tell you."

Hardison stirs some more and then puts the fork down, turning to lay his head on top of hers. Parker peers up at him, going a little cross-eyed.

"Happy anniversary, babe," Hardison says.

"It's not really our anniversary," Parker points out. "It's our Eliot anniversary."

"Happy Eliot anniversary, then," Hardison says.

Parker thinks about it. "I guess since he's not going to enjoy it," she says, "we probably should."

"He'll enjoy it fine," Hardison says. "Does that mean you're going to eat my anniversary dinner, too?"

Parker sniffs the air. It smells like smoke, but not in a good way. There's an underlayer of heated olive oil and just a touch of garlic, maybe a hint of vinegar. But mostly, smoke. "No," she says. "Definitely not."

~*~

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=14b69s3)


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